rov drew a line on the ground
with the toe of his boot. 'There's the barrier then. By the way, how
many paces may each of us go back from the barrier? That's an important
question too. That point was not discussed yesterday.'

'I imagine, ten,' replied Pavel Petrovitch, handing Bazarov both
pistols. 'Will you be so good as to choose?'

'I will be so good. But, Pavel Petrovitch, you must admit our combat is
singular to the point of absurdity. Only look at the countenance of our
second.'

'You are disposed to laugh at everything,' answered Pavel Petrovitch.
'I acknowledge the strangeness of our duel, but I think it my duty to
warn you that I intend to fight seriously. _A bon entendeur, salut!_'

'Oh! I don't doubt that we've made up our minds to make away with each
other; but why not laugh too and unite _utile dulci_? You talk to me in
French, while I talk to you in Latin.'

'I am going to fight in earnest,' repeated Pavel Petrovitch, and he
walked off to his place. Bazarov on his side counted off ten paces from
the barrier, and stood still.

'Are you ready?' asked Pavel Petrovitch.

'Perfectly.'

'We can approach one another.'

Bazarov moved slowly forward, and Pavel Petrovitch, his left hand
thrust in his pocket, walked towards him, gradually raising the muzzle
of his pistol.... 'He's aiming straight at my nose,' thought Bazarov,
'and doesn't he blink down it carefully, the ruffian! Not an agreeable
sensation though. I'm going to look at his watch chain.'

Something whizzed sharply by his very ear, and at the same instant
there was the sound of a shot. 'I heard it, so it must be all right,'
had time to flash through Bazarov's brain. He took one more step, and
without taking aim, pressed the spring.

Pavel Petrovitch gave a slight start, and clutched at his thigh. A
stream of blood began to trickle down his white trousers.

Bazarov flung aside the pistol, and went up to his antagonist. 'Are you
wounded?' he said.

'You had the right to call me up to the barrier,' said Pavel
Petrovitch, 'but that's of no consequence. According to our agreement,
each of us has the right to one more shot.'

'All right, but, excuse me, that'll do another time,' answered Bazarov,
catching hold of Pavel Petrovitch, who was beginning to turn pale.
'Now, I'm not a duellist, but a doctor, and I must have a look at your
wound before anything else. Piotr! come here, Piotr! where have you got
to?'

'That's all nonsense.... I need